A pause -- the armies wait;
A million flush’d, embattled conquerors wait;
The world, too, waits -- then, soft as breaking night,
  and sure as dawn,
They melt -- they disappear.
  
Exult, indeed, O lands! victorious lands!
Not there your victory, on those red, shuddering fields;
But here and hence your victory.
  
Melt, melt away, ye armies! disperse, ye blue-clad soldiers!
Resolve ye back again -- give up, for good, your deadly arms;
Other the arms, the fields henceforth for you,
  or South or North, or East or West,
With saner wars -- sweet wars -- life-giving wars.